A Fire in the Blood (44 page)

      
While his mother was temporarily blinded by the dry, powdery meal and he was screaming with his burned face, she raced to the kitchen door and opened it for Cormac.

      
The hound was across the porch and through the door before Clare and Johnny had the pantry door between them and the chaos erupting in the kitchen. Cormac leaped on Marc, knocking him to the floor before he could discharge his rim-fire Colt. Germaine, who had slid her pistol into the pocket of her skirt, was blinking, teary-eyed, as she extracted the weapon.

      
Spying the butcher knife she had dropped on the floor, Lissa ran to seize it, only to have the older woman shove the gun into her side before she could reach it. "Call him off or I'll kill you," she shrieked above her son's screams as he wrestled with the huge hound who was tearing at his gun arm, trying to reach his throat.

      
Rather than give up her only chance at freedom, Lissa gambled. She knocked Germaine's gun away from her side and reached up for the skillet handle on the stove. The gun went off, grazing Lissa's arm, but she brought the sizzling skillet tumbling down onto the Frenchwoman's head.

      
Cormac, hearing Lissa's involuntary cry when she was shot, abandoned Marc and turned on his mother. Stunned by the skillet and burned by the spattering grease, Germaine dropped her gun, which skidded across the floor. Ignoring her injuries, she lunged at Lissa with a screech of rage. The dog leaped between them.

      
Marc Channault seized his Colt and cocked it as he rolled up, heading for the pantry and Johnny. Just as he yanked the door open, a deadly voice from behind him yelled, "I'm here, Channault." Jess stood outlined in the kitchen door.

      
Marc Channault whirled and fired, but his shot went wild, blasting into the ceiling. Jess's bullet hit him squarely in the chest. He fell backward into the hallway.

      
Germaine screamed his name as she struggled with Cormac. Lissa called the dog off, but as soon as he released the crazed old woman, she seized the knife from the floor.

      
"You've killed him," she shrieked, trying to leap up and go for Jess with the knife. The big dog's jaws snapped, closing on her billowing skirt. She fell, twisting her arm and landing on the knife, which imbedded itself to the hilt in her chest.

      
Lissa slid away from the bloody corpse and jumped up, running into Jess's arms. "They said they sent men to kill you!" She buried her face against his chest and held on to him, trembling. "How did you know they'd be here?"

      
"I went to her hotel room in town this morning. She was a real doting mama. Kept all sonny boy's letters and reports on the cattle he'd stolen. It didn't take a Napoleon to figure out running off the cattle was a diversion. Once I knew she believed her son had a legal claim on J Bar, then I knew you and Johnny were in trouble, left here alone."

      
"No one tried to ambush you?"

      
"Probably would've if I'd caught up with Tate and the Diamond E men."

      
"They came?"

      
"Cy agreed to send them. They'll round up the scattered herd. Once I take the Channaults' bodies to the sheriff in Cheyenne, their gang will head out. J Bar's seen the last of rustler troubles. The inheritance is safe for Johnny now."

      
Lissa's chest tightened as a feeling of foreboding squeezed her heart. "Jess—"

      
Just then Johnny let out a loud wail. Clare held him in a death grip as she huddled against the far wall of the pantry. Lissa released Jess and walked into the storage room for her son. "It's all right, Clare. Come out now. Everything's over. They can't hurt you," she said soothingly to the maid as she took her son and looked questioningly at her husband.

      
The white-faced maid shuddered and looked away from the two bodies, then made a run for the back door and was sick over the side of the porch. Lissa held Johnny, kissing his head as he cried furiously. Looking up at Jess, she said, "I'd better feed him. He's really starving now."

      
Jess examined the oozing wound on her arm and noticed the red weals on her hands from the hot pots. "I think you need some attention first."

      
"It's just a scratch, and the burns aren't bad. I'll feed Johnny before I tend them."

      
"Will you be all right here? I have to take these bodies to the sheriff and do some things in town. I expect Tate and Moss will ride in by dark."

      
He touched her cheek tenderly, then ran his hand across Johnny's dark hair. They stared into each other's eyes silently for a moment. No words were spoken, but she understood and he knew that she did. The baby continued to cry.

      
"I have to . . ." Her voice failed her. Finally she worked up her courage and said, "You aren't coming back, are you, Jess?"

      
"The ranch is safe. Moss is loyal to the brand. He'll handle things for you."

      
For me. For Johnny. But never for you.
"J Bar will always stand between us, won't it, Jess." It wasn't really a question.

      
"It's for him, Lissa." He looked at his son, who had subsided into red-faced whimpers. "Take him East with the income you'll have from the ranch. Start a new life."

      
"Where no one will call him a breed or a bastard." She nodded in resignation, then rose on her tiptoes, with the crying baby between them, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Keep safe, Jess—or if you can't do that, be careful." Lest she break down again, Lissa turned and fled past Marc Channault's body, through the hallway and up the stairs to her room, not caring at all if the dead man had really been her half-brother or not.

      
As Johnny's wails subsided, Jess carried the two bodies out to the spring wagon, tied Blaze to its back, and began the long ride into Cheyenne.

* * * *

      
Just as Jess had predicted, Tate, Moss and most of the hands returned that night. The rustlers, seeing the Diamond E men arrive along with so many J Bar men, gave up and scattered. Without the enticement of the bounty on Jesse Robbins, they had no reason to stand and fight.

      
Early the next morning Cy Evers rode up to the front door, hat in hand, red-faced and nervous. Lissa ushered him into the kitchen and fed him a hearty breakfast to put him at ease.

      
"I know why you're here, Cy, and I'm grateful." She hesitated. "I—I'd like to think my father would be, too." She did not really believe it, but it might make Cy feel better.

      
He surprised her by saying, "Marcus was my friend, but he was a fool." Cy studied her over the rim of his coffee cup with shrewd blue eyes. "I owe you a lot for savin' my Dellie from that skunk, Brewster. . .. Time was I thought Jesse Robbins

was just like him, mebbe worse," he added in chagrined honesty. "But I was wrong. He came to me last night. Told me he had no right to what Marcus built. Never wanted it, but he loved you and couldn't help that, even if he was sorry for the hurt he put on you 'n on his boy. I told him Marcus 'n me and all them good folks in Cheyenne had a lot to do with that hurt. Told him I was sorry."

      
"He asked you to handle our fall roundup and hire me a professional manager, like the foreign stock companies have, didn't he?"

      
He could see the quiet acceptance in her and the pain she hid beneath it. Marcus Jacobson's headstrong, spoiled little girl had grown up. He only prayed his own daughter showed half her grit and maturity someday. "Yep, 'n I said I'd be proud to do it."

      
She reached her hand toward him, hesitantly. Then he too reached out, clasping her small, smooth hand in his veined, gnarled one.

      
"Thank you, Cy."

* * * *

      
Roundup went smoothly, and the profits from sales were the best ever. Her new manager, Jack Eckert, was efficient enough to run J Bar without any help from her.

      
Winter arrived, leaving Lissa snowbound with only Johnny and Clare for company at the big house, although they did hire several youths from town to do the heavier cold-weather chores such as chopping firewood. Cormac was allowed to sleep in the kitchen and frequendy accompanied her down to the bunkhouse to visit Vinegar.

      
Cy was an occasional visitor when the storms blew over. He had sent the embittered and humiliated Cridellia East to some distant kin in Knoxville. In March he was delighted to share the news with Lissa that Dellia had become engaged to a prosperous older merchant. His family assured him that the man was of fine character and doted on his young fiancee.

      
Doc Headly made several calls, checking on their health during the bitter winter season and keeping Lissa abreast of the goings-on in Cheyenne. Lemuel Mathis married Emmaline Wattson and bought up the small Circle Q spread to the west of J Bar. Quite a comedown from his ambitions of owning the biggest outfit in the territory.

      
Spring slowly began to whisper across the sear brown grasslands of the basin with its soft, warm winds and sweet green breath. Lissa smiled to herself. She had a proposal for Lemuel Mathis, one that just might give them each their heart's desire.

Chapter Twenty-Six

      
Camella Alvarez dropped the spoon against her saucer with a clatter, then glanced around the almost deserted dining room at Esselborn's. It was not the best restaurant in Cheyenne, but the food was good and the owner would serve fallen women such as Cammie and Lissa. "What do you mean you've sold J Bar to Lem Mathis?"

      
"He received good terms on a loan from his father-in-law's bank. Horace Wattson is thrilled to see the J Bar brand owned by his son-in-law. I've put the money in trust for Johnny. My Uncle Phineas is investing it for me in St. Louis," Lissa said with a sly smile.

      
Cammie returned the smile. "Let me guess—you do not plan to return East with your
nino.
"

      
Lissa fished around her plate of dried-apple pie and took a bite. "Well, I was sort of thinking that some traveling might do us a world of good after being cooped up all winter. Johnny's a year old now and weaned..."

      
"And you think Texas would suit you, no?"

      
"I think Texas would suit us, yes."

      
"Jess will be
muy furioso
," Camella replied, brushing a pastry flake from her chin with a gamine grin.

      
"I figure once we're there and J Bar's gone . . . he'll be stuck with us," Lissa said nervously. "After all, he did keep telling me it was my ranch to do with as I saw fit for Johnny's benefit. I just happen to think having a father will be of more benefit to my son than having a cattle empire."

      
"And you have come to me for directions to the Double R," Cammie said, seeing the determined gleam in her friend's eyes. "Things will be very dull in Cheyenne when you are gone. I shall miss you."

      
She began to draw a map.

* * * *

      
The summer sun had always been merciless on the high plains of Wyoming, but the farther south they journeyed, the more grueling it felt. The air was damp and heavy as well as stiflingly hot. Johnny, teething and fretful, dozed restlessly in his mother's lap as they bounced along what passed in the Big Bend country of West Texas as a road. Cormac slept on the floor, cramped between the hard-backed seats of the small vehicle. Outside the coach, Tate Shannon rode with a small cawy of Lissa's best horses, which she was bringing as a dowry of sorts to the Double R.

      
The stagecoach ran once a week from Persimmon Gap to the sleepy little village of Terlingua, which she understood was mostly Mexican. Although not as fluent in Spanish as she was in French, Lissa had learned a smattering of the language in her school days. For the past five-hundred miles she had been forced to become increasingly more proficient, although Tate's border Spanish served them adequately when she became stumped.

      
She was everlastingly grateful that Jess's old friend had agreed to accompany her to the ranch. She gazed across the shabby coach, which carried one snoring drummer besides her and Johnny. Clare had not come with them. In truth, she had always remained a little afraid of Jess, and the idea of living near the border, hundreds of miles from anything but cows, Mexicans, and Indians, terrified her witless, not to mention traveling in the company of a black gunman. Lissa had made her a generous loan with which she opened a dress shop in direct competition with her former employer, Charlotte Durbin.

      
Lissa had bidden farewell to her unlikely assortment of friends—Cy Evers and Doc Headly, Vinegar and Moss, even Cammie. Much as she would miss them, she knew her life in Wyoming could never be the same as it had been before Jesse Robbins had ridden into it. None of the respectable women in town would ever allow her within their society again. Jess had certainly been right about that, but he was wrong, desperately wrong, about her moving East with their son and hiding Johnny's paternity.

      
The farther into Texas they traveled, the more Mexican the population became, and the more mixed bloodlines became evident. Most of the Spanish-speaking people of this region had some degree of Indian blood. Her son could live and grow

here without the stigma he would experience in the Anglo north. If the ranch was poor and small—well, she had brought along a small nest egg of cash and the willingness to work hard.